


Merry and Bright

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Comfort Food, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Endearments, Established Relationship, Established Relationship Flirting, Flirting, Food, Gentle Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Pet Names, Praise, Romantic Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Stark Cannot Take a Compliment, compliments, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: It's Steve and Tony's second Christmas together as a couple, and they're both looking forward to a quiet night in.  For once in their lives, they might actually get it.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 379





	Merry and Bright

“Tony? Babe?” There was no answer. Steve ducked into the mansion’s living room (the more casual one where the Avengers actually spent most of their time) from the hallway to see the giant Christmas tree he and Thor had hauled back (with most of the others watching and a few unhelpfully pelting them with snowballs until Tony had put a stop to that), all sparkling with ornaments and lights, pushing back his cowl as he did. The house felt quiet, and most of the lights were off. Most of the others were probably asleep already.

He’d regretted having to answer the call from Fury, regretted it more when it was basically just answering a few questions about the missions he’d been on in the last month and a milk run mission to take Hydra tech out of the hands of a bunch of homegrown domestic terrorists who wanted to blow up the tree at Rockefeller Center. They’d been so haphazardly set up it had felt a little like taking candy from a baby. He hadn’t wanted to be out on Christmas Eve, hadn’t wanted to leave Tony, especially—it was only their second Christmas together as a couple, no matter how many jokes Tony made about them being like an old married couple already—but duty was duty and Tony, in between making him promise that he’d call for back up if he needed it, had assured him about a hundred times that it would be all right, that he had to work late anyway and it would make him feel less guilty about it. Working late on Christmas Eve. Jesus.

But that was Tony for you, so Steve had just kissed him, warm and deep and lingering enough to make it last, to make Tony melt into his arms and press his body into his and for both of them to start to get hot, hot enough that Tony pushed him away with a laugh, caressed his face, and said, “Go on, get out of here before I forget all about having work to do.” Steve had gone in for one more quick kiss, lingering wet over Tony’s lips and grinning all the while, raised his hands in surrender as Tony took a mock swing at his arm, then grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him one more time. Tony had swatted his rear as he went and made Steve feel even warmer.

He’d called into Stark International before he left SHIELD and had been assured that Tony had already left—Steve sure hoped so, it was eleven thirty at night—so he was figuring Tony would be there in the mansion somewhere. He’d told Steve he still had “Christmas stuff” to work on and presents to “rig up,” so Steve wondered if he was in his workshop, even at this hour, rather than on this floor at all.

He realized as soon as he looked around the living room, though, that Tony wasn’t in his workshop. Instead, he was curled up on the sofa, head sprawled over the back of it, arms wrapped around one of the decorative throw pillows, fast asleep. He was the only one in the room.

A warm, aching wave of fondness rose up inside Steve, tender and tight in his chest, and he felt himself smile fondly, crookedly. “There you are, sweetheart,” he murmured, just to himself, and moved forward to snag the fleece blanket folded up on the back of the sofa and shake it out to tuck it in around Tony. It was just like him not to reach for it, really, whether out of forgetfulness or absorption in a project or exhausted absent-mindedness or whatever other reason.

Steve left the living room after that, hightailed it up to his room to put away his shield, his uniform, and wash up. He hurried through his shower, changed into a warm soft sweater over his undershirt and his warmest pair of lounge pants, slipped into some slippers, and headed back downstairs to find Tony again.

He hadn’t moved much, though he had scrunched down under the blanket, his head lolling forward, pressed into the top of the pillow he was holding. Steve sat down on the couch beside him and blew on his hands, rubbing them together until he was sure they were warmed up, then leaned in, stroked his palm up over Tony’s bicep, up to his shoulder. He was wearing some kind of soft steel-blue sweater that felt like goose-down under his hand. “Hey there, Shellhead,” he murmured. “Want to wake up a little?”

Tony groaned, grunted, and his face scrunched up, brow furrowing, before his eyes fluttered open. His face was open, unguarded, sleepy-soft, mouth slack and face blank with sleep. The lights from the tree flickered over his face in a multicolored rainbow in the dim light of the room. Steve leaned in, pressed a kiss to his eyebrow, then to his nose, one to the line of his beard, then one to his mouth, and was rewarded by feeling it curve into a soft smile underneath him even as Tony kissed back, his mouth pursing upward into warm, wet kisses against his, Tony raising his head even as Steve pulled back to follow his lips with his, chasing Steve’s mouth with his, warm and lingering. Steve raised his hand, pet gently along Tony’s forehead, his eyebrow, his cheekbone, as he pulled away, not moving far, staying close enough that his breath still feathered over Tony’s lips, and he could feel Tony’s own against his own wet mouth.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Tony murmured, his eyes lighting up and his smile widening, tugging at one side of his mouth. The sight of that uneven smile, as always, had the power to have Steve’s heart beating fast, tripping all over itself, as well as the lights of Christmas reflected in his eyes. “How’d it go at work?” He slid one hand up over the back of Steve’s arm, and Steve shuddered under his touch, leaned into him. Tony smiled even wider, beaming and soft, and kept his hand moving upward, over the back of Steve’s neck, making him shiver again, and up into his hair. Tony’s hand felt very warm, having been curled under the blanket for the last few minutes, and made warm little tingles spread out through Steve’s entire body. “You’re still in one piece,” Tony said, rubbing his rough, callused fingertips in little circles against the back of Steve’s neck in a way that made it incredibly hard to focus on anything else, “that’s a good sign.”

“Just about,” Steve agreed, and ducked his head forward, let his lips linger over Tony’s forehead in the lightest brush of a kiss.

“Now there’s a worrying answer,” Tony said, lightly, but his hands skimmed down over Steve’s back, around his sides, patting down over his hips and up over his chest, as if to check for injuries, and Steve could feel Tony’s body tense under his.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Steve said, catching Tony’s hands with his and smiling ruefully at him. “Sorry, should’ve been clearer. Good as new. Not a scratch.” He tugged Tony’s hands down over his chest illustratively. “See?”

Tony huffed. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Don’t worry me like that, Winghead, you hear?”

“I’ll try not to,” Steve promised, catching Tony’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to the palm. He could feel Tony’s little shiver of pleasure all through his body, feel more than hear the way his breath caught, watched as he looked up through his eyelashes at Steve, Steve thought mostly unconsciously.

“Mmm,” Tony said, his hands flexing softly under Steve’s. He curled his fingers up, rubbed them against the sides of Steve’s face, and Steve shivered, just a little. He got wind-burned easily, and it was cold outside—the serum hadn’t yet healed it, though in a few hours it would be gone. Tony rubbed at one cheek with a thumb, then, abruptly, wriggled out from under Steve’s chest, dug in his pockets or sweater or something under the blanket. Steve blinked, surprised. “Aha!” Tony said, a moment later, and pulled out a little tin of what looked like lotion. “Now c’mere, lover,” Tony said, and turned quickly to sit sideways on the sofa, trapping Steve between both of his legs.

“Tony,” Steve said, laughing. “Tony, it’ll heal. It’s just a little chapped, is all, I—”

“Shush, martyr to the cold, the wind, and the bitter weather, no one’s impressed,” Tony said, that lovingly teasing tone in his voice that Steve knew so well. He unscrewed the tin, got a good dollop of lotion on his fingers, and blew on it slightly, breathing on it while he met Steve’s eyes. Warming it up. “Now,” he said, and reached forward and took Steve’s chin in his hand, pulling him in.

Steve gave in, letting his eyes slip half-closed and just enjoyed the way it felt as Tony carefully, oh so carefully, let his fingers, coated in silky lotion, rub in gentle circles over his raw cheek. Tony’s fingers were warm on his skin, the lotion silky-slick and creamy, and Steve let his breath out at the intimacy of it, felt his cheeks going warm. Tony just smiled and rubbed soft cream up over his cheekbone. Steve sighed, closed his eyes, and let Tony tilt his face the other way, rub the cream on there, too. It felt cool, calming, easing the ache and fire of his raw skin away.

“Smells like almonds,” Steve murmured. “Almonds and bananas.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, with a little chuckle, sounding fond. “You’re gonna smell good enough to eat, Captain Cupcake. Oh cupcake, my cupcake.”

Steve snickered, and Tony laughed, and then Steve was laughing, too, opening his eyes again.

“You goof,” he said.

“Takes one to know one,” Tony responded, and rubbed one lotion-y finger on Steve’s nose, then slid his lotion covered hand down the front of Steve’s throat, wiping off the excess and making Steve shiver all over at the sensation as Tony rubbed it in. “Mmm,” Tony said, throatily husky, clearly reading the expression on Steve’s face. “Now that’s better. Warming up, huh, stud?”

Steve flushed. “Tony,” he said.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Tony said. “I like you warm.” He slid his hands onto Steve’s shoulders, rubbed in slow circles. “You should see the other guys, right? How many pieces are they in?”

“Mostly one piece,” Steve said. “And in SHIELD custody.”

“Another day, another dollar,” Tony said, grinning, closing the tin of lotion and returning it to whatever pocket he’d been keeping it in.

“How about you?” Steve asked, even as Tony slid his hands into his hair and started to massage at his scalp, scratching his fingers gently along it. “Ah. Oh, man, Tony. That feels good. You have about a million years to quit doing that.”

“My pleasure,” Tony purred. “My almond-banana cupcake. On your back, stallion, and I’ll keep you warm and do this at the same time.”

Steve felt himself going even hotter and thus probably redder, a little raw where he was still wind-burned even under the lotion, but he let Tony push him over to lie on the sofa, piling pillows underneath his head, then arranging himself over Steve’s body, between his legs. He tugged the blanket over them both, bracing his elbows in the pillows, and went back to stroking Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp. Steve sighed, felt his whole body sort of—uncoil, go loose, now that Tony’s weight and warmth were pressing down on him, body against his, the smell of him—clean skin as if Tony had showered not long ago, too, Tony’s aftershave, the one that smelled like fir trees and sandalwood and frankincense, a surprisingly good combination with the smell of the lotion—in his nose, both of them cuddled up together. Pleasure was still spreading through him, slow and warm, from Tony’s hands against his scalp, in his hair, and Steve sighed. “On my back, huh?” he murmured, hearing own voice gone all scratchy and low, smiling up at Tony.

“Cap,” Tony said, in a falsely shocked voice, grinning hugely. “Tsk tsk, was that an innuendo?”

“If it was,” Steve said, feeling himself melting into the couch as he relaxed, “I’m all yours, Shellhead. All yours.” _Just like always_.

“I like the sound of that,” Tony said, looking down at him with the softest smile. He leaned in, brushed a kiss over the lotiony tip of Steve’s nose. “All mine, huh?”

“All yours,” Steve breathed. “All yours, always.” Tony was right where Steve wanted him now. He wrapped his arms around him, smiled up into his gorgeous face. “There’s my pretty honey,” he murmured. “My pretty fella.”

“Flatterer,” Tony said, still with that soft smile. He traced the shell of Steve’s ear, brushed short strands of hair back behind it. Steve thought he probably needed a haircut, but he didn’t like cutting it when it was so cold out. Tony always seemed to like it longer, too—he was always playing with it, and Steve liked that, no matter how hot and sticky and sweaty longer hair got under the cowl. It was worth it to have Tony’s hands in his hair so much, petting and stroking whenever they were sitting together and his hands were idle. Even now, it was hard to keep his eyes open rather than just melting into the wonderful feeling, how relaxing and just—how damn good it felt.

“’S not flattery if it’s true,” Steve said, still smiling at Tony and not caring how dopey or lovestruck it looked. “You already know I think you’re just about the best-looking guy on the planet. That a surprise?”

Tony’s lashes fluttered and he looked down, off to the side, bit his bottom lip. “ _Steve_ ,” he said.

“Gorgeous fella,” Steve said, grinning and warming to his theme now. He caught Tony’s wrists in his, rubbed gently against the pulse at each of them. “With his gorgeous blue eyes and his long eyelashes that could’ve been on some Hollywood beauty without even any need for makeup and pretty lips and defined cheekbones and ridiculously nice, soft, thick hair and—” he slid his hands up, then down, under the blanket, following the line of Tony’s shoulders and back to squeeze gently, teasingly, caressingly, at Tony’s tight behind “—and the tightest, most beautiful backside I’ve ever seen?”

Tony’s smile was turning sheepish, self-aware, almost flustered, and he looked first one way, then the other, then back at Steve, and laughed a little helplessly. “I’ve never been with anyone who liked my backside as much as you do, sport,” he said, after a moment.

“I bet you have,” Steve said, leaned in to press his lips against Tony’s ear. “I bet most of your lovers liked it,” he said. “They just didn’t say it out loud.” He bit lightly at the lobe of Tony’s ear and reveled in the way Tony gave a little jump and then shuddered all over and pressed forward, down into Steve’s warmth and strength. “But,” he said. “You know me. Captain Cannot Tell A Lie, right? You’ve said it a million times.” Tony laughed, ducked his head. “I’m just too honest to keep my mouth shut,” Steve added, grinning. “It’s gorgeous, and you should know.” He squeezed again at the taut, muscular roundness of Tony’s rear end, appreciating the give of just enough flesh under his hands. “People should tell you every day. If I could write a word of poetry I’d write odes to it. You should be sculpted in marble. Nude. In the Met. No, the Louvre. Hell, both.”

Tony was full on squirming now. “You’re being _ridiculous_ , Steve,” he huffed, a little hotly, but his voice was all breathy and low and cracking, too. Steve smiled.

“Am not,” he said. “Besides, I’m supposed to think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. It’s all part of being a good boyfriend.”

“It’s not a requirement,” Tony said breathlessly, but he wasn’t pulling away.

“Well,” Steve said. He grinned up at Tony. “What about me? What do you think about me?”

Tony looked at him, scowled a little, looked at him again through his eyelashes, then shook his head, smiling unwillingly. “Are you fishing for compliments, pretty boy?” he asked softly. “Yeah, you got me. You know I think you’re the most beautiful thing in the whole damn world.”

“See?” Steve murmured. “And I don’t want you to be a better boyfriend than I am. I want you to have a good boyfriend. The best. Because the best is what you deserve.”

Tony was obviously flustered now, avoiding Steve’s eyes and practically sputtering. “I—I, _Steve_ , of course you’re the best,” he said. “I—you’re the best I could—ever—I still can’t—I can’t believe you’d even—I mean—I mean you don’t have to give me—give me silly compliments to be the best, I—oh, God.”

“Shh,” Steve said, and pulled his hands free, put them both on Tony’s face, covered his lips with his thumbs. “Shh, babe. Love you. C’mere.”

“Mmmph,” Tony said, and kissed at Steve’s thumbs, then leaned down, let Steve draw his face to his. He opened his mouth, coaxed Tony’s mouth down onto his, and Tony followed his lead eagerly, and then they were kissing, Steve running his thumbs softly over Tony’s cheeks, petting his facial hair with them, stroking gently. Tony moaned, shifted over Steve, writhing until they were pressed closer together, his hands carding through his hair, shivering and shuddering under Steve’s hands as he coaxed Tony’s tongue into his mouth, rubbed his palms up and down over Tony’s back under the blanket, over his shoulders. Eventually, Tony pulled away, but only to press another soft, deep kiss to Steve’s lips, then another, then another, playing a teasing game where none of them were quite heated to start building to anything, but all of them smoldered with promise and the deliciousness of tasting Tony, of his breath in Steve’s mouth, the taste of him down his throat.

Eventually Tony pulled away, breathing raggedly and unevenly, and buried his face against Steve’s throat, half in his sweater. His face felt hot, his lips wet, and he was trembling all over. Steve rubbed at his hips, pressed a soft kiss into his hair, and held him close, and Tony sighed and relaxed into him, going limp like his strings had been cut. He curled his arms around Steve’s neck. “Love you too, apple pie,” he sighed.

“Apple pie?” Steve asked against his temple.

“Apple strudel?” Tony asked without moving his head. “Pumpkin pie. Vanilla mousse. Gingerbread bunny.” He skimmed his finger around Steve’s ear again, down his neck, walked his fingers down his chest over his belly. “Eggnog cupcake. Peppermint frosting.”

“Gingerbread _bunny_?”

“Bunny. My cuddle bunny,” Tony said, patting Steve’s belly. “I’m not the only one with a nice tight pair of _buns_ , Cottontail.”

Steve knew he was going red now. He was probably red down to his damn _toes_. “Tony,” he groaned.

“Turnabout is fair play,” Tony said, with an unrepentant grin. He brushed hair back off Steve’s face and kissed his forehead. “By the way, there’s hot cocoa in the crockpot, and Jarvis made some cookies. I . . . helped. Okay, I kept Clint out of the way and kept Carol from stealing the dough and then the cookies themselves but. I added some icing and some sugar, too.”

“Are there any left?” Steve asked dryly.

“Yes,” Tony said. “I saved some just for you. On pain of death. I—here.” He struggled up, out of the blanket, almost fell off the couch on his face, before Steve caught his arm, and then sat up. “Hey, I’ve got it,” he said. Steve held up his hands in playful surrender, backed away. Tony stood up, lurched over to the coffee table, and then held up a plate piled high with four or five kinds of Christmas cookies. “Tada!” he said. “Sugar cookies for my sugar cookie.” He winked. “And, uh, some other kinds, too.”

Steve propped himself on one arm on the sofa. “Did you know, Tony,” he said, “honey, baby, darling, honey bunny,” Tony was looking more and more delighted with each endearment, hugging the plate of cookies and bouncing on his toes, “sugar, darling, dollface, angel, my sweetheart, you are the absolutely most thoughtful, most adorable, most wonderful lover a man could ever have?”

“Careful, there,” Tony murmured, low and soft. There was a sweet, almost shy smile on his face. “It’ll go to my head.”

“That’s the point, lunkhead,” Steve said, grinning. “Now c’mere, my very lovely, very clever fella, and take me into the kitchen to get some cocoa.”

Tony was very warm under his arm when Steve draped it around his shoulders and nuzzled into his hair on the way to the kitchen, leaning happily against him, snuggled into him even if it might have been easier to walk if they were more separated, like he never wanted to let Steve go. Steve didn’t make it any easier for him in the kitchen, either, wrapping his arms around him from behind and setting his chin on his shoulder as Tony got them big mugs of hot cocoa and homemade marshmallows and dollops of Jarvis’s malted milk whipped cream. Tony set the cookies down on the table and the two cups of cocoa beside it with a kind of triumph, pulling back a chair, but Steve didn’t let go of him, just sat down in the chair and pulled Tony into his lap as he went. Tony yelped, but didn’t struggle, let Steve pull him in, big and tall as he was.

“Merry Christmas, big guy,” Tony said, eyes soft as he looked up into Steve’s face once he had him situated comfortable sideways on his lap. He brought his hand up, cupped the side of Steve’s face gently, palm against his jaw, and stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve replied, and covered Tony’s hand with his own, stroking the back of his hand just as gently, turning to press a kiss against his palm. Tony sighed, a soft little exhalation of breath, his eyes fluttering closed. He kissed Tony’s palm again, then reached down, grabbed a marshmallow covered in whipped cream, and held it to Tony’s lips.

Tony winked and sucked off the whipped cream and the cocoa clinging to the marshmallow, then pulled it into his mouth with his tongue. It sent heat shooting down Steve’s spine, pooling in his belly and his dick, and he shifted, very aware that his cock had come to attention and in his soft boxers and lounge pants was probably very obvious.

Tony was just grinning.

“Stop that,” Steve said. “I’m gonna eat cookies with my sweetheart right now.”

“You started it,” Tony said, and fluttered his eyelashes.

Steve grabbed more whipped cream on his finger and swiped it against Tony’s nose. “I did,” he admitted.

“Hey!” Tony said. He tried to reach it with his tongue, but couldn’t. He shook his finger at Steve. “Hey! That’s not fair! This whipped cream is a delicious masterpiece; don’t waste it!”

Steve leaned in and licked it off. “You’ve got the most adorable, handsomest nose, too,” he added. “I forgot to mention that.”

“Mmm,” Tony said, and his eyes fell to hedonistic slits. “’s _nice_.”

“Are my kisses better than Jarvis’s whipped cream?” Steve asked, pressing more kisses against Tony’s eyebrows and cheeks.

“You know the answer to that,” Tony said. “But don’t make me say it out loud. It feels disloyal to say it out loud.”

“To me, or to Jarvis?” Steve asked innocently.

“Don’t push it, Rogers,” Tony said. “Your—your kisses are better. Okay? But only by . . . twenty percentage points.”

“No, no, that’s high praise,” Steve said. “I’m honored. Stick out your tongue, mister.”

Tony grinned, then obeyed. The sight of him sticking out his tongue also made blood rush south—it was all—all red and glistening—but Steve steeled himself as he took another big dollop of whipped cream with his finger and swiped it onto Tony’s tongue.

“Mmm,” Tony said, closing his mouth and clearly savoring it, swallowing, rocking his hips and letting his eyes slip closed, his head fall back, in a way that reminded Steve very, very vividly of how he looked in other situations. His cheeks were even slightly, visibly flushed. “You’re good to me, babe,” he murmured.

“Oh, I try,” Steve said, settling his hand at the small of Tony’s back, making sure he had a good grip to hold him steady on his lap. He pushed his mug into his hands and pulled the plate of cookies over, then picked up his own mug, held it toward Tony’s. “To your health,” he said.

Tony smiled and touched his mug to Steve’s. “To you, and me, buster,” he said. “And _your_ health, handsome.”

“Well, I’ve probably got that part under control,” Steve said, self-deprecating, and Tony laughed, and they both took a drink of cocoa. Steve put his down, after a moment, and leaned in and kissed Tony again, tasting cocoa and whipped cream on his mouth. “Tasting malted milk on your tongue,” Steve murmured against Tony’s mouth. “Highlight of my holiday so far.”

“That’s my old-fashioned guy,” Tony said, smiling fondly, and kissed him again. “Gonna get Jarvis to make you malted milk every year,” he said, against Steve’s bottom lip, and curled his tongue hotly against it, into his mouth. Steve groaned. Tony rocked into him, his body all heat and muscle, kissed damp, wet kisses deep into his mouth. “Make you a malted milk cake for your birthday, red, white, and blue,” he murmured in his ear. Steve shivered.

The kiss went on for quite a while after that—Steve didn’t really know how long, just that he got his hands under Tony’s sweater and Tony put his mug down and started running his hands into Steve’s hair, all over his neck, up and down his shoulders and his chest, kissing him deep and slow, and by the time they stopped and rested their foreheads together, panting, Steve’s mouth was stinging and swollen and beautifully sore, and Tony’s looked wet and swollen, and Tony shuddered and groaned and threw back his head and laughed breathlessly when Steve leaned forward and dragged his tongue over that shining wetness on Tony’s bottom lip, swirling it to the side and over, one last time. Steve smiled and thumbed at those puffy lips, wondering if they were as tender as his felt, and Tony shuddered for him. Steve stroked his hand down his neck and smiled at him again. “God, you kiss like a million bucks,” he said.

“Going for a billion,” Tony said, lazily.

“Okay, a billion,” Steve agreed. Tony smiled and snuggled up closer, and Steve held him close. He got his hand up and stroked the back of his neck, up into his hair. Tony’s was a little on the long side, too, and Steve definitely liked his like that, all fluffy and showing a little curl, not styled or anything, just loosely left to curl wildly and tousle around his face. He ran a hand through it, and Tony sighed, melted into his shoulder a little more.

Steve stroked his hair a few moments more, then gestured at the cookies. “Pick me out one you helped ice, huh, fella?” he asked.

Tony grinned. “You betcha, champ,” he said. He twisted around on Steve’s lap—also distracting, with that fine rear end of his moving and rocking all over him—and leaned forward, picked a gingerbread wreath cookie, and held it to Steve’s lips to take a bite of.

“Mmmm,” Steve said. “Wow. Oh, wow.”

“I know,” Tony said. “Jarvis outdoes himself every year, somehow, doesn’t he?” He hefted the large cookie in his hand. “Mind if I have a bite, too?”

“Not at all,” Steve said, and enjoyed watching Tony very deliberately bite into the same place he had. He watched Tony chew, swallow, lick icing off his lips, then leaned forward, brushed a few crumbs away from his beard.

They finished off that cookie fairly quickly, and moved on to some of the sugar cookies, some iced, some sugared. These were in the shape of the mansion itself, unicorns, pegasi, dragons, reindeer, and Christmas trees. There were also spiced cookies and peppermint candy cane twisted cookies that Tony seemed to enjoy feeding Steve piece by piece. Eventually, by the time they’d finished off the plate—which didn’t take as long as it probably should have—and drained their cocoa (and a second cup each), Steve was feeling warm and loose and a little drowsy, not like he was really tired, but more like he was so relaxed he couldn’t bring himself to be all the way alert. He slid Tony to his feet and rinsed out their cups in the sink, continuing their conversation about what they’d done that night—the details of Steve’s mission, Tony filling him in on the way he’d set the mansion’s security functions, the extra updates he’d given it since most of the Avengers would be distracted or off duty, though luckily not all, the presents he’d finished wrapping and setting up for everyone.

When Steve was done with the dishes, he turned around and put one arm around Tony’s shoulders, and, when he didn’t pull away, slid the other under his knees and picked him up. He knew Tony had seen him telegraphing it when he just laughed and didn’t seem startled or pull away, just squeezed his arms around Steve’s neck. “You big dork,” he said.

“When it comes to you?” Steve asked. “Guilty.”

“Taking me to bed?” Tony asked.

“Mmm,” Steve said. “Thought we could snuggle some more up there. Listen to some carols on the radio. What do you say?” He had some special gifts for Tony up there, too, wrapped, hidden under the bed. He’d of course had to tell Tony he was hiding them under the bed or Tony would have been suspicious of unaccounted for packages, but Tony was always good about presents and didn’t peek. Steve had the feeling that the whole idea that Steve wanted to surprise him made Tony so happy he didn’t have the slightest desire to spoil the fun of it for Steve.

“It’s a deal,” Tony said, and laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s a deal, big guy.”

He was looking up at Steve with total adoration in his blue eyes, and he was warm and real in his arms, and trusting, and Steve just had to dip his head and kiss him again. “Unless you had anything else you needed to do,” Steve murmured against his lips, when he finally pulled away.

“Mmm,” Tony said. His eyes were hazy, dreamy, and he looked soft and well-kissed and a little drowsy himself. He leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder as Steve started to carry him out of the room and found the stairs. “Nah. I set up everything with holiday bonuses and the holiday work schedule for Stark, and I think we’ve got everyone covered with shift rotations and presents here, too. You did most of that anyway.”

“We worked together,” Steve agreed. Tony was grinning, looking down the stairs as Steve carried him up, apparently reveling in the novelty.

“So,” Tony said. “I’m all yours. Are you going to wake me up for an early morning bit of the old in and out?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said, laughing, and almost stumbled on the stairs.

“Rumpy pumpy?” Tony suggested, eyes gleaming wickedly. “Frickle frackle? You gonna bend me over and show me the fifty states? Let me lick your candy cane? Jingle my bells? Give me a ride on your sleigh? Fill up my stocking?”

“I’m warning you, mister,” Steve said. “If you make me laugh too hard—”

Tony grinned. “You won’t drop me, don’t worry,” he said. “So? How about it? Am I on your naughty list, sugar?”

“Nah,” Steve said. “You’re very, very nice, sweetheart. You’re always very, _very_ nice.” He leaned down, kissed him, gently, enjoying Tony’s soft little moan, the way he arched up into it, all eager, giving and sweet, tasting like sugar and spice and chocolate. “And trust me,” he added in a whisper against his lips, “the old in and out? That’s a sure thing. Tomorrow morning. That can be your first Christmas present.”

“Merry Christmas to me,” Tony said, and his smile was brighter than every light in the house as he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him again, and they stayed there, for a moment, just kissing at the top of the stairs.


End file.
